


Library Query

by vaguelybohemian



Category: A Discovery Of Witches - Fandom, All Souls Trilogy - Deborah Harkness
Genre: A Discovery of Witches, All Souls, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Stalking CW, The Book of Life - Freeform, This is basically general fiction but with me pining over Baldwin, slow-burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-01-13 07:02:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21240098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaguelybohemian/pseuds/vaguelybohemian
Summary: Nora Germaine is a curation and manuscript expert long tired of being secluded in the artifacts of museum and library collection. After a strange encounter in her universty's general library, she begins to notice things are not right. Things in her apartment are rearranged, neighbourhood cats have being going missing, and eventually a body is found on campus...All this after she meets the annoying, and rather terrifying, Baldwin Montclair. The vampire takes a deadly interest in her, without the motivations of a mysterious manuscript. He knows she is up to something, but he cannot put his finger on it.





	1. Library Query

I put my pen down roughly when a foot thumped against the back of my chair. Again. I looked over my shoulder to see a large man, a pen in his hand spinning skillfully as he read through a massive text. I blew a strand out hair out of my face and sighed.

“You’re just being irritable,” I thought. “He’ll just be a huge dick, and it is certainly not worth the trouble.”

I stretched my back as I stood, satisfied at the pops that started from my ankles and ended in the base of my neck. I had been working in the library since the opening this morning, and it was just past four in the afternoon. This had been the first day I had full access to a newly acquired collection of manuscripts given to the university, and I had been eager to make the most of the works and the previously produced literature on them. That meant I had basically been living off of iced coffees and scones. Anyone who tells you that your life changes after you graduate your undergrad… Is lying.

I took one last peak at the tall man sitting behind me, spying his toe firmly on the spoke of my chair, and rolled my eyes.

The barista smiled when I came up for another order. “Rough day?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. How about yourself?”

We chatted briefly as she made my chai latte.

“We should make a loyalty program for you. This is what? The seventh coffee today?”

“Ninth,” I said, shrugging. “But it’s not that much caffeine compared to the usual. Need to stay awake somehow.”

I took the stairs quickly, blowing out a long breath when I reached the top. I struggled with the heavy reading room doors and knocked my arm in a way that I expected would result in a bruise.

I looked around, sipping the warm latte, and wondered where everyone had gone. It was close enough to the time that supper was served to students, but during this time of year the library rooms were usually full of undergrads preparing for midterms. I turned the corner to my hidden section and nearly dropped my drink.

All of the students sitting in the area were moved to the areas furthest from my cubicle, over which stood a man. He had to have been nearly seven feet tall, broad shoulders over which he wore an expensive-looking jumper, and copper hair was curling against the nape of the dress shirt under the jumper. He had previously been kicking my seat, but presently he was leafing through my yellow journal and had one pale hand upon the manuscript I had been analyzing. A bare hand.

I put down my latte and rushed to the table, not caring about the noise.

“What the hell are you doing?!” I explained, attempting a stage whisper. I pulled his hand away, my skin jumping at how cold his skin was, and snatched my book from his hand. “You can’t get oils on the vellum!”

I analyzed the edges of the paper carefully, not noticing any fingerprints on the delicate material.

A soft chuckle. “I was wondering when you’d be back.”

I slapped my book against the table, huffing. A head across the room raised and I lowered my eyebrows at the student.

“Not soon enough, apparently,” I gritted out, gathering up my pens that had been scattered by him moving my things.

“I was curious. Not many such books left in the world,” he said, sticking his hands in the pockets of his trousers. Those also looked very expensive, tailored to fit his long legs perfectly.

“And that is why you do not touch them. Also I lost my place. So many thanks.” I pushed hair out of my face as I pulled on a pair of gloves to touch the manuscript.

He stood over me, and I shivered painfully under his gaze. I turned on him, attempting to make my five foot four stature compare to his imposing figure.

“What?”

He raised an eyebrow, looking down at me with some bemusement. “You’re quite irritable for someone patient enough to work with manuscripts with such damage and need of restoration. Are you sure you should be touching them yourself?”

I sighed, trying not to let it turn to a noise of disdain.

“I’m trained in chemical analysis of artifacts that required organic matter. So forgive me for not wanting people ruining such things, or tampering with my research, for that matter.” I gently closed the manuscript, picking up the heavy codex and laying it upon a parchment-lined cart with the several fragile manuscripts I had requested for the day.

“Do you have a card for that?” He laughed as he sat back in his seat, long legs resuming their place under my seat.

I frowned. “He is really getting to me,” I thought, digging into the pocket of my bag to retrieve the green card a colleague had insisted I buy. Naturally I went with the most extra design of dark green and gold text. “Here.”

He tugged on the card when I did not immediately let go, not realizing how much of a grip I had on the piece of carding. He raised an eyebrow at the card.

“Professor Germaine, associate in History, Religious Studies _and_Archeology. Impressive credentials, even without a PhD. Why have you not perused a doctorate yet?” His voice was surprisingly soft, making the faltering in his seemingly-perfect Received accent more evident. I could feel my eyelid twitch.

“I think that’s my business.”

He continued to look at me, and I became suddenly very self-conscious. I knew it was because the utter panic of seeing him pawing at my poor manuscript was wearing off, and I only had so much time left to face off with him. I was in ill-fitting clothes, covered with a massive cardigan, and had my hair in a messy bun that really did nothing to keep the hair out of my face. I looked like a schlumpy Gibson girl with owl-eyed glasses. Maybe old hippie lady was a better descriptor. He looked so much at ease, mouth tilted expectantly, thick auburn eyebrows quirked at me.

I raised my own eyebrow. “I was a junior curator at my alma mater for several years. I decided to go into an archival branch of studies rather than curation and restoration. Savvy?”

“Certainly not. Where was your alma mater?”

I chewed my lip. “Trinity. In Dublin.”

He nodded. “That is quite impressive. Quite a few famous names.”

I tried to stop myself from grinning. “Only a few.”

“Who’s your favourite? Newton, Wilde?”

I looked down, the back of my neck buzzing with lost adrenaline. “Hozier.”

I turned away from him, packing my things up into my bag and tearing off my gloves.

I did not look at him again, knowing I was just going to get that weird look. He seemed bemused and confused. “Confusing, more like,” I thought.

“I don’t know him. Poet?” He was before me again, handing me one of my bibliographic books. I snatched the item from his hand, my heart pounding again. I stubbornly kept my gaze down, feeling his cold gaze on me again. What was it with this guy??

“Thank you,” I said bitterly. I turned away from him and began to push the cart off toward the hold room for the library staff. They needed the manuscripts brought back each day I was done, and I had a key checked out for the time being so I could access materials without the help of the archive staff. I was not done, however I felt as though this man was chasing me away.

“No goodbye?”, he called after me.

I did not look his way, swinging my bag over my shoulder. “Nope. I’ve decided I don’t care much for you.”

As I was rounding the corner, I swore I heard him chuckle and mutter “Pity.”

I was shivering, teeth chattering, as I walked swiftly across the main floor of the library. I looked up to see him looking down at me from the floor where the reading room was located. I quickly drew my gaze away, practically running out of the library.


	2. Hunter-Gatherer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baldwin must plot to get into the good graces of Nora Germaine without falling out of favour with his closest associates.

Baldwin tapped two fingers on the side of his laptop, rapping them in a steady rhythm that certainly annoyed the rest of the room. Cortez droned on in his own way about the quarterly budget, expenditures, oncoming drought, etc. Baldwin rarely paid much attention to these meetings, as he used much of his free time reviewing the material to know the ins and outs of his branch down to an impeccable science.

But he was off. Tired and irritable.

He felt as though each corner would reveal a swing of heavy hair, or the twirl of a full skirt. He had been like this for weeks, but only now was he confronted with the scents of wheat, milk, honey, and some unknown spice. Cloves? Allspice? Cardamom?

He drifted into the first time he saw her. He was stalking, tracing prey through a twilit park when movement pulled him off course. This had happened many times before, an animal drawing his attention away or something like that. But this was different. He had smelt something that was akin to sunshine and warmth.

Her hair was down then, the thick locks swaying as she moved her head to the music that played in her headphones. He watched her pass through a grove of trees, slowly walking through the willow branches that surrounded the pathway. She traced up the leaves, her fingers ghosting over the foliage as if it were glass. She suddenly spun around, setting him on his hackles.

She stopped, laughing to herself and swinging her hips to the music. She opened her eyes, and Baldwin swore she was looking at him. He stood as still as he could, feeling his muscles coil with the urge to spring. He willed himself to stay put, watching as she rubbed her eyes and looked harder. By the time she focused on the surroundings Baldwin was watching from the windowsill of a nearby building.

“Montclair,” a deep voice interrupted Baldwin’s thought and pulled him back to the board meeting. Cortez’s black eyes bared down on Baldwin, and both vampires bristled a bit.

“Apologies, my friend, carry on,” Baldwin said, moving a dismissive hand to the side-glances from the warm-blooded associates in the room. Few of them even knew what had just happened between the two vampires, despite there being a presence of both witches and daemons in the room. They often left it alone when Baldwin had an… occurrence with other vampires. It was cleaner to just stay out of it.

A human associate raised a hand. “We are actually nearing the end of time. How about I email the remainder of the expenditure information to you all for review and we shall rebook the space for discussion next week?” He looked at Baldwin with a watery smile.

“Yes, that sounds fine,” Baldwin said, standing up to return to his office. “I’ll be around for another hour or so if anyone needs anything. Expect meeting notes this evening. Good day.”

The warm-blooded associates quickly moved aside, most of them not knowing why, for the huge vampire. The humans all assumed it was because Baldwin was similar to a Peterbilt in size that they quickly scurried away from him, not wanting to become roadkill. They did not often realize that he was a predator among them.

Baldwin could practically feel Cortez on his heels, but he did not stop until they both walked into his office. They both restrained themselves from using their paranormal speed where others could see.

“What the hell are you doing?”, Cortez practically snarled, slamming his hands down on Baldwin’s desk. The handsome mahogany shuddered under the abuse.

“Mind the desk,” Baldwin said flippantly.

“The desk? How about our fucking necks, you prick!” Cortez threw his hands over his head in exasperation.

Cortez di Tura del Palmio had been overly exhausting since Baldwin first met him in Tangiers, and that had been nearly seven centuries before. The two men had been frustrating and fighting each other the entire time, yet never decided to abandon the other. Cortez would likely fall into poverty, and Baldwin in absolute madness and destruction. Of himself as well as whole cities. They had met each other under similar circumstances, and neither wished to fall out of universal favour in that way again.

Baldwin hung his head. “I just need to get something out of my system. You understand weeks without a hunt, yes?”

Cortez’s sparse brows shot up, and the faded scarification on his chin wrinkled. “Weeks? Oh, my friend. What has happened?”

“Just my own foolishness,” Baldwin chuckled, running a massive paw through his auburn hair.

Baldwin threw open the door to his car when he pulled into the emptying parking lot. Students tended to clear out during supper time, which meant that senior scholars made their roosts in the stacks during the evenings.

He ordered a black coffee he knew he wouldn’t drink, not only because it had easily been brewed three hours prior but also that he drank very little other than very expensive shiraz. He thought a moment, then ordered both a blueberry scone and an iced chai latte.

The barista took a moment to look up at him, then at someone behind him in line. He felt stupid that the familiar scent had not hit him before he heard her voice.

“Hello, Jan,” the voice sang in a gentle, lilting tone. He wondered where her accent originated, either from her home or from her time in Ireland. He shook his head briefly, turning.

“Professor Germaine,” he said, giving his best, heart-breaking smile.

Professor Germaine, Nora to anyone that was not a ginger giant that had pissed her off, did not look impressed by the smile.

“Mystery manuscript prodder. Back to soil more texts?”

“It’s Baldwin Montclair, actually,” Baldwin said, putting out his hand. Which she rolled her eyes at.

“Black coffee and an iced chai tea latte!”, called the other barista, placing the too to-go cups on the end of the counter.

“Oh, there was a blueberry scone with that,” Baldwin said to him. And then, upon turning back to Nora, “Just buying you a late lunch, perhaps early supper.”

One of her cheeks deflated as she blew a strand of hair from her face. A short burst of cinnamon filled Baldwin’s nostrils, making his jaws ache and his skin itch under his cotton shirt.

“I don’t take supper with people, let alone strange men,” she said, turning to order from the barista, Jan.

Baldwin glared at the teenager behind the cash register. “Ignore her.” He plucked the foodstuffs from the counter, tipping handsomely, and steered the tiny woman away from the coffee shop.

“Unhand me!”, she gasped at him as he loftily whisked her away. She reluctantly took the cold drink from him. “What is your problem?”

“You. You are my problem. However,” he stopped himself to gain his composure. “I have a mind to help you.”

“Help me? You’ve put me two days behind in my research already. I don’t need you to poke around in-“

“Twelfth century illuminations? Written in Latin, perhaps with vernacular spellings you can’t translate, and even some Greek thrown in at times?” Baldwin smirked at having been able to get all that from looking at only a few pages of the manuscript.

Her face turned pink beneath her freckles. Did humans not lose their freckles when they aged?

“How much of my notes did you read?” She looked around, pulling the much larger man into an alcove. Baldwin was surprised by the strength she seemed to have. He thought she would have been easily pushed over, perhaps by a stiff wind, despite the weight she carried on her hips and stomach. She was small in basically every other way, covering up anything womanly with layers of sweaters and what Baldwin would not have been surprised to have found was a set of combinations. He hoped he would find out, eventually.

She glared up at him, dark brown eyes burning into his golden ones. “This could be my breakthrough, and I refuse to allow some hotshot businessman telling every history minor and concentration about what I have found. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Montclair.”

“Oh of course, Dr. Germaine,” Baldwin said, slowly moving to speak into her ear. “But you see, I do know how to read those vernacular studies you can’t quite get.”

She blinked several times, her lashes brushing against her cheeks each time. “How?”

He smiled cheekily. “A man must keep some secrets. I merely offer my services.”

She lifted an eyebrow. She was trying not to smile, but the dimples in her chin and cheeks gave away the semblance of a matching grin. “And in exchange?”

“Tell me what other abnormalities you find, let me take you to dinner, perhaps even a luncheon, et cetera.”

She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. She remained unmoving a long moment, making Baldwin jittery. She began walking away suddenly, twisting her hair into a bun with one hand as she strode away.

“Well?”, Baldwin hissed.

“I’m booking a private room for the night. How much time do you have?” She glanced over her shoulder, soft curls dancing around her face as they escaped her scrunchie.

“All the time in the world,” Baldwin replied.


	3. De rerum natura

Baldwin passed my notebook to me to review. I looked over my glasses to glance at how much was on the page. I had to assume the translations of the manuscript were accurate. At the bottom of the page he had left me several doodles, one of which was me holding a glass in one hand and what looked like a pair of sunglasses in the other.

I looked up at him, smiling without humour. “Focus please.” I turned back to my work, gently turning over the next page to reveal another set of beautifully preserved pages.

“Oh, I am focused,” he said huskily. “Wish I could say the same for you.”

My heart thudded once, very hard, at the statement. He wasn’t wrong, but I did not want to give him an ounce of satisfaction.

I had spent ample amounts of the night sneaking glances at where his knee barely touched mine, and how the muscles beneath his trousers twitched each time my palazzo pants brushed up against him. I had caught him glancing up at me also, only once but I could feel his cold gaze once in a while, and he would rub his bottom lip against his teeth as he held my gaze briefly. I’d quickly draw my gaze back to the manuscript.

We were in a moment of peeking at one another when a knock came at the door.

I leaned back in my seat, pulling open the door. My colleague, Dr. Henry Ashton, reared his head into the room. His mop of chestnut hair made him look exceptionally boyish, as did his round glasses and casual attire. He insisted in teaching classes in Iron Maiden shirts and Birkenstocks, which set him apart in the department already. It made him fit better with many of the sociology profs, not with the old-school philosophers. He was the youngest, but one of the sharpest professors I had experienced in a long time.

His smile faded a tad when he spied Baldwin.

“Oh, Nora, I didn’t realize you had a research aid,” Henry said, rolling the sleeve of his cardigan up absently.

“He’s no one, just a friend helping me with translation work,” I said, waving in his direction. I practically felt Baldwin bristle at the statement.

“Could I steal Dr. Germaine? Two secs,” Henry pulled at my blouse gently as I rose. I felt Baldwin’s glare on my back as I shut the door on him.

Henry turned on me quickly, whispering madly. “Are you crazy?!”

“Having a translator? Henry it’s just some etymological w-“

“That’s. Not. The point. He is bad news, Nora. Like bad news bears,” Henry said, tapping my hand with each word to add emphasis. I pulled my hand away, feeling a gentle zap with each point of contact.

“He’s… Odd. And new. But he has already helped me get back on track with this research. I really appreciate it,” I said, surprising myself at coming to this man’s defense.

Henry bit into his thumbnail. “How often have you seen him around? Like has he shown up at your office, or your grocery store? Seen you at the gym?”

I sighed. “I forgot to tell you; my leg has been acting up again. My physio said no gym for a while,” I said, putting my hands in my pockets. “Anyway, no, not really. He spoke to me about my studies last time I was in to work with the primaries, and that’s how it came up that he was a translator.”

I felt bad for lying, but really, Henry was over reacting.

Henry glared at me, knowing I was not being truthful with him. I didn’t think it good to be an effective liar, but life had made me into someone regrettably well-versed in twisting the truth. Henry managed to call me out, even in a flustered state.

“You should know you can’t lie to me. Why would you try? He’s basically stalking you, isn’t he?”, Henry snapped at me, and I felt my hair float with static. “You fucked your leg again, and now this… Man is coming around like you’re a wounded deer. Listen to my reasoning!”

I crossed my arms, growing agitated from his anger. “Henry, I am fine. I can deal with one guy.”

Baldwin chose that moment to open the sliding door. “I think you need to go,” he said coldly to Henry.

Henry sputtered but couldn’t get out a word as he was dwarfed by Baldwin’s height. He gazed up him defiantly, but with much less of the gusto he had possessed prior to the third party making himself known.

“Ashton, I really just need to get my work done. I’ll be here for months without aid. Just let it be, please.”

He looked at me briefly, then adjusted his shoulder bag roughly. “Fine. Just remember I warned you.”

“Talk to you later?”

“Not likely. Bye, Nora,” he said gruffly as he walked into the shelves beyond the study rooms.

I noticed a group of younger students poking their heads around the corner at the scene, one of them quickly ducking away when I looked their way. Drama on floor three was not unheard of when students had become stressed enough, but some of them would surely recognise us as staff. Great.

I turned on my heel and sat back down at my chair with a huff, trying to appear engrossed in my work yet again.

Baldwin remained at the door. “…Are you alright?

“No, I’m bloody well not. What of it?”, I said quietly, bouncing my knee.

“Well, that was pretty heated. Also, you’re in my seat.” He put a hand where his jacket was across the back of the chair. The seat wasn’t warm considering he had been sitting there only moments before, which was certainly odd. I shrugged and moved the other chair to where he had been sitting.

He quirked an eyebrow.

“What?”

“I think it’s time for supper. Maybe a tall glass of something strong,” he chuckled, taking my sweater from the back of the other chair.

“I really can’t. I still have-“

“A deadline, yes, but you should never work this stressed. We can come right back, monk’s honour,” Baldwin was practically trying to lift me by my armpits as I swatted him away, taking my sweater from him and shrugging reluctantly.

“I feel like you’re constantly getting me to eat,” I say, shutting off the light to the study room as we leave.

He chuckles as he locks the door and hands me the tiny key. “Someone has to. You would certainly waste away attended to your tomes like you do.”

“A true aesthetic, am I,” I snorted bitterly. Considering I lived off of scones and caffeine and had admittedly been eying the (annoying) redhead that had become my companion I was certainly anything but.

As if reading my mind, said redhead grinned wickedly. “You truly are Anthony of the Desert.”

“Oh, Jesus H Christ, I hate that,” I chuckled a little too girlishly. I frowned at the thought of Baldwin growing on me in just a few hours of working together.

Turns out getting me to drink something strong hadn’t taken much work. Baldwin had been rather surprised at my choice of the café around the corner from the university, one that served a broad selection of both vegan dishes and Argentinian wines. Such was the way when providing for a campus of young academics.

We walked into the café just after the evening rush had left, a barista welcoming us as she bussed tables.

“Sit wherever you like, love,” the barista called, totting an oval full of dishes away to the kitchen.

“After you,” Baldwin said, putting out an arm toward the front where overstuffed leather chairs sat by the large windows. It was still warm enough outside that the wrap around porch was still filled with patrons, and so inside was the best for a semi-private dining experience. I had often eaten there out of convenience during times that the only places to put a drink or plate was a stand-alone bar meant for leaning rather than sitting.

I crossed my legs as I sat, a motion I did not miss his eyes following the movement as he sat down gracefully across the squat table from me.

“This is certainly not what I expected from what you told me. You are certain they sell decent vintages here, not just Strawberry Hill and whatnot?”

“Hey, you shouldn’t mock Boons, it has a place in the hearts of many broke students,” I said, flipping idly through the menu as if I did not know what I would be getting. “Should we just get a charcutier to start? They have two different ones to choose.”

He hummed a yes to that, eyes quickly scanning the menu. “They don’t have anything older than 2008,” he said, resting his head against his fist like a frustrated toddler.

I tilted my head. “Well golly, milord, what shall we do?”

He frowned at that, to which I allowed myself a grin.

I looked out the window at just the right moment to see Henry walking quickly past on the opposite side of the street. My stomach turned and I slouched in the seat.

“He probably hates me,” I thought, regretted the odd interaction with my friend. He was usually so level-headed and understanding, certainly already becoming a father figure despite his recent introduction to nurturing undergraduates. I caught Baldwin’s gaze just as the server came to our table, cutting off what interaction may have occurred in that moment.

“What can I get y’all,” the server asked, pen and paper in hand.


	4. On the parts of the body

“Fuck!” Baldwin screamed internally, regretting not asking Nora previously how she was feeling. Her friend, if you could call him that, was an ass as well as a witch. He had felt the electricity coming from him the moment he spoke to Nora with such callousness distrust. It was unlike such beings to associate with many humans, let alone care if they were keeping company with vampires.

Nora was giving her drink order to the server, her voice raised in pitch as if she were the one feigning excitement at serving fellow students. Surely, he would need to ask her of her customer service background.

“And for you, Baldwin?”, she asked. He nearly jumped from the sound of his voice coming from her.

He glanced up at the server, noticing her pen tremble slightly under his gaze. “The Spanish Grenache. Please.”

“Any water with that?”

He laughed. “No that will be fine.”

He frowned at the face being made at him by his companion.

“Grenache? Really?”

“It’s certainly not Chateauneuf-du-Pape, but it will do,” he said, folding his large hands across his abdomen.

“You’re insufferable,” she said, rolling her eyes at the obviously name dropping of a $900 wine.

“I prefer to think of myself as incorrigible. Makes for a more positive outlook on the whole thing.” He made quick work of rearranging the cutlery, unrolling them from the crimson napkin. “Speaking of positive outlook; how are you feeling?”

She sighed, looking away from him out the window. Several cars whizzed past before she replied. “I just was not expecting that to happen.”

The man nodded. “Nor I. Was he merely roused by my being there, or is he always so…”

“Ridiculous?”, she intoned, picking absently at her sweater instead of looking at him. She looked so young and yet so old all at once as she thought about what had transpired between her collogue and herself.

“It is regrettable, but not something you should fret too much about,” he said, nodding knowingly.

She chewed her lower lip, captivating his stare to land there. The subtle blush of lipstick had been worked away slightly from her worrying the bottom lip and it had begun to swell a bit with agitated blood. Her tongue dabbed the spot, as if she were checking to see if she had broken the skin.

She sighed again, breath smelling of sweet milk and pasty flour washing over Baldwin. “I suppose you’re right. What’s done is done.”

Baldwin smiled woodenly, thankful for when a large glass of wine was put in front of him.

“Oh lovely, thank you, darling,” Nora said, smiling kindly to the server. She certainly had an ease for hiding when she was upset. “We were thinking of the charcuterie. Did you want anything else?”

“Whatever you are hiding would do,” he thought, wishing he could have far more than just what has been on her mind since they first became acquainted. “Perhaps extra fig jam?”

The server nodded, jotting that down.

When she walked away Baldwin pointed to the glass of wine she had ordered. He hadn’t listened when she ordered and was perplexed by the wide glass she sipped from. He could practically taste the fizz of the sweet white wine. “May I try?”

“Certainly not,” she responded, grinning a bit over the rim of the glass. “If I did that, you’d have me try your ridiculous Ganache. Red wine should not taste… like roofing tiles.”

Baldwin balked at this. He swished the wine and took a deep draught of the rich wine. It was young, not well aged to truly curate the flavours, but he could appreciate the deepness of the spice, the blending of berries, and vineyard where the grapes had been grown. Spain was an exceptional flavour Baldwin had always enjoyed, being able to taste the sun and the soil for which the region is so famed for. He wondered if humans could think such things truly tasted of tar, despite the lack of tannins in the wine.

“It tastes like a much-needed trip to the Spanish countryside,” Baldwin remarked, placing the glass on the table delicately and folding his hands back over his stomach. He should have been so contented he could purr, but certainly more like a lion than a kitten. “Are you certain about that defamation?”

She narrowed her eyes skeptically. “I’ll pass and stick to my Nova 7.”

“Professor Germaine, quite the restaurateur I see,” he praised, saluting her with much sarcasm.

“If you must know, I was a server for a very long time. High end restaurants, resorts. Whatever paid the bills better.” She shrugged and took another sip, sighing contently. “And if you must know, I do not drink much.”

“We’ve done a great deal of work today, you deserve it. I, on the other hand, drink a great deal of wine.”

Nora gave him a look for a moment, and he realized the implications of what he said.

“Not that I am an alcoholic, merely it is my drink of choice. Much more than any other sipper. And my family owns a vineyard, so I know a significant amount about wines.” He defended himself too hastily, wishing to console her on what opinion she may have been developing of him.

“That explains the Chateauneuf-du-Pape, I suppose,” she retorted.

“Oh no, rest assured that is merely because I can afford such things,” he said plainly, proceeding to take a healthy drink from his wine. She almost choked on her sip.

She composed herself before asking, “Baldwin, how much money do you have?”

He shrugged, turning to see the server coming with their cheeseboard. “Enough. I do work at an exceptional business firm with fourteen international outlets.”

“Ah yes, you certainly make do.” She smiled up at the server as she quickly placed the board and hurried off to another duty.

“Let’s just say I’ve not had the means to pay for my choice of pope.” Not a lie. Mainly because he had never had any interest in the politics of the Catholic Church.

“Har har,” she snarked, taking a bite from a well decorated piece of cracker. “Their goat cheese is divine. And the almonds are baked with honey.”

She took another helping and quirked an eyebrow at him.

“It is more than I expected.” He simply took a few cashews and raspberries.

“It’s a whole meal, not just an appetizer. And much better than scones.” She bit into a piece of brie delicately, smiling at the flavour. “’There is excellence all around you. You need only be aware to stop and savor it.’”

“Who said that?”

“Chef Gusteau from Ratatouille.” At his look she shrugged. “He was a man of too good for this world.”

“I have a growing list of things I must research merely to understand your idioms,” he chuffed, trying not to be too obviously pleased as he took a bite of brie and fig jam.

She laughed. “It’s an instant classic about a boy and his Little Chef. I’m surprised you’ve never seen it. I take momentous pride in having a distinct knowledge of early 2000s children’s movies.”

“I seem to have forgotten how young she is,” he thought to himself, hiding the look of bereavement on his face. “Too young for me, certainly.”

“What does it matter if you care little for me?”, Baldwin said defensively, using her words from earlier that day.

She looked shocked and he regretted saying anything. “You’re right I don’t like you.” She drank deeper from her wine and proceeded to receded from any conversation with him.

“Good one, asshole,” he thought to himself, also resigning himself to silence and wine.

Nora shivered despite her sweater and Baldwin placed his jacket over her shoulders, the article dwarfing her further.

She began to thank him when they saw two yellow vested police officers come from the walkway to enter the library from the back. “What’s going on?”

Baldwin shook his head. “Good evening, has something happened?”

“Find some other way to go. The library is closed for the night,” the shorter officer snapped, not looking at Baldwin.

“I’m faculty. I have work resources I need to re-“

“Do it tomorrow. I said the library is closed,” the officer interrupted, causing Nora to bristle a bit. “We can escort you to your vehicles, but we cannot have civilians in this part of campus.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” the small woman huffed, turning on her heel. Baldwin could smell death on the officers as the breeze swept over them and was taken by the distinct lack of blood. Had someone been hurt, or blood been spilled, he would have smelled such things a block away without the wind.

No blood meant vampire killings.

“Fuck,” Baldwin thought as he followed behind Nora to the front parking lot.


	5. The Teeth of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whole lotta time skips  
CW for bad dreams, sleep paralysis, night terrors, and other psychoactive sleep disorders.

Baldwin had offered me a ride home, which I respectfully declined. I lived only a few blocks down and really just needed the air. He seemed agitated and wiry, as if he knew something that should have kept me from walking home. But without him saying anything, why should I really worry on just that feeling?

After gulping in cool autumn air, it was nice to finally be home, and have more time to think about the fact that I would be fined for not returning resources. “Would they have even allowed that if I stayed? I just shouldn’t have left the library. Dammit!”

I leaned against the locked door, glaring bitterly at the flight of stairs I had yet to climb, kicking off my “work shoes” and trading them for a comfortable pair of house shoes. I nearly fell over trying to pull the backs of the shoes over my heels. That was something that would seem a constant in my daily routine. I turned off the porch light and climbed the ancient staircase. I discarded my bag on couch in the foyer, turning on the lamp as I moved on to put water on for a bath.

“Hot water and another glass of wine,” I thought, pulling off my sweater. I stopped the motion of throwing it in the hamper when I realized it smelled the same as Baldwin’s jacket. I put the soft article to my nose and inhaled. It smelled unlike most men’s products, delicate and indistinguishable because of it. At once it smelled of fresh earth and firewood as it did of fennel and berries, making my head swirl with the possibilities.

I threw it in my hamper spitefully as the aroma had sent me into a spiral of thought about the latest events.

“Why are men like this?”, I huffed, throwing open the cabinet to find the jar of Epsom salt that seemed to migrate around my bathroom storage. I drew two handfuls, throwing each in angrily and not waiting for the water to start foaming them.

The static from taking my sweater off made the wisps of hair around my face float. I pulled my scrunchy from my hair, feeling the solid weight of my hair shifting in one tug.

Wine was at the bottom of my pantry, forcing me to kneel. I gently sorted through the dozen bottles I kept for department parties to find the bottle of Zinfandel I bought when I moved into the apartment almost a year ago. It still remained unopened. Until today.

Ten minutes later I was dipping into hot bathwater, music playing, window open and wine in hand. I certainly had become vain when I could afford it.

I spoke allowed to myself as I planned. “Tomorrow I will go straight to the university, return my resources, email the archivist.” Sip. “Apologize profusely and get straight back to work. I should be finished with the new resources by the end of the week and on to organizing my notes for a draft. Ha!” I still had yet to request images being taken of the manuscripts and would also need to issue that request by the end of the week. I was glad it was a Sunday and could do these things out of order for a change, as my days were mostly spent in classes, taking meetings, and marking students’ work. As much as I longed for a sabbatical, there was likely another decade after my dissertation before I could even hope for tenure.

“Unless you had financial help,” a sneaky little voice told me. I felt terrible for thinking of Baldwin Montclair at that moment. “He is rich, and you must think him handsome…” That little voice must have been the wine. I looked over at my nearly empty glass and nodded to myself. It was the wine. I sank into the bath, letting my hair submerge and scrubbing my face roughly, hoping it would aid in keeping away the good buzz I had started.

From my phone Hozier warbled “Sweet music playing in the dark/ Be still my foolish heart/ Don’t ruin this for me” and I had to roll my eyes, hitting shuffle on another playlist.

I shuffled from the bathroom up the stairs to my second floor, nearly tripping on the carpet at the top of the stairs. I was far groggier than at this time of night, and I blamed the wine yet again. Usually I became rather energetic at this time of night, getting another two or three hours of work or reading in before finally being able to head to bed. Tonight, however, I breezed through my study and went straight for my nightgowns.

“Well, hopefully I will sleep better than ever.”

I turned on the overhead fan and cracked open all the windows and the balcony door. It was always so stuffy at this level of the house, as heat rose from all three flats in the house and accumulated right in my bedroom. Winters were phenomenal, but during the summer I found myself spending a great deal of the night dozing on the porch swing. My landlady, Ms. Andersen, ended up giving me several lectures on the ‘indecency of a young woman sleeping outside on her porch!’ Alas, tonight the wind easily took the hot air from the apartment and allowed me to snuggle into my bed.

I was floating, except I wasn’t because that couldn’t be possible. It felt like that part in every dream that comes right before you wake up with a jolt, except I felt some control and eventually felt my bare feet touch grass. I was walking now, and everything moved so fast past me, hurling me toward what looked like a spotlight.

I got close enough to see a group of people around the spotlight, and a person with long hair directly in the light. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t move from that spot, feeling my lungs burn with excursion as I peddled my legs to get to them.

“- by Mars let this sa… Praise be… Hold us up on high… with Grace...”

They sounded like a radio coming in and out of signal, my ears only picking up a little of what they said. My heart dropped when I watched three of the figures pounced, and the girl in the middle shrieked with terror.

I kicked my legs harder, pumping my arms. “I can save her,” I thought, “I need to save her!” I inched forward, watching in horror as they held her down. A hooded figured knelt over her, cutting into her arms as she thrashed and screamed, and I was close enough to see tears rolling down her cheeks as the ground dropped out from under me.

I landed with a rough thud, and now the light was above me. I quickly got to my hands and knees, not seeing anyone else near me. On the ground was a circle of… salt? I dabbed a finger and licked it to find it was. I stood, looking down at the pattern formed below me: a circle intersected with lines, and alchemical symbols within three circles.

My fingers felt odd and when I looked down there were markings on each arm. I turned them over to see symbols cutting into the skin and my blood rising up from them like I was upside-down.

I did what anyone would do. I screamed.

I felt like I hadn’t drunk water in ages, and my eyes stuck together when I pried them open. The clock on the mantel claimed it was three in the morning, and it was eerily silent outside without the sounds of traffic on the main roads.

I pushed myself to a sitting position, cracking my back as I did so. I looked around my room, completely disoriented from whatever dreams I had just moments ago. The room smelled of frankincense, a mixture of spice and woodsmoke, reminding me of the aroma clinging to my sweater before I took my bath.

Frowning, I rose from bed and crossed the room to the mantel where I kept candles and matches. I lit a bergamot candle, throwing the match into the bare firebox, and waited for the scent to fill the room and pick up on the gentle wind that still traveled through the room.

I rubbed my arms roughly and decided to return to bed.


End file.
